


show your cards and watch me fall

by crucios



Series: restart the heart you gave me 'verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucios/pseuds/crucios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam sits upright when he hears the flat door bang open. He wasn’t asleep – he doesn’t sleep a lot anymore, and even less when Louis’ out drowning himself in vodka or tequila or whatever his choice drink of the night is – but the noise startles him.</p><p>timestamp to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/413440">restart the heart you gave me</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	show your cards and watch me fall

**Author's Note:**

> i debated on waiting until i'd written all of these sort-of-timestamps and posting them all in one as a prequel, but they're all a bit disjointed and probably better read separately so that's how i'm going to do it.
> 
> lots and lots of thanks to _estrella30_ and _plasticskies_ for the speedy betas and cheerleading! and lots and lots of apologies from me because this is so horribly sad and i upset _myself_ with it.

Liam sits upright when he hears the flat door bang open. He wasn’t asleep – he doesn’t sleep a lot anymore, and even less when Louis’ out drowning himself in vodka or tequila or whatever his choice drink of the night is – but the noise startles him.

He stares at the telly for a moment where the credits of a film from the ‘50’s are rolling on one of the obscure film channels (he’s stopped watching films that he likes because every film in his DVD collection is one he’s watched curled up on the sofa with Louis at one point or another, when things weren’t quite so messed up) and tries to block out the loud clattering coming from the hallway.

He only gets a few seconds before Louis stumbles through to the living room with a, “Liaaaaaam,” and then drops his keys on the floor and falls onto the sofa, squashing Liam’s legs. Liam frowns and tries to move them out from under him, but he doesn’t really have the strength.

He sighs and offers him a sharp, “Hey,” instead.

Louis just grins. “What you watching?” he slurs, crawling up and settling against Liam’s side. His eyes are wide and glassy and Liam can smell the alcohol all over him—whiskey tonight, he notes.

Liam turns his attention back to the rolling credits and says sullenly, “Black and white films from the ‘50’s?”

Louis scrunches up his face and giggles; it would be adorable, Liam’s quite sure, if he wasn’t completely off his face. “Mmmm, stellar Friday night, babe,” Louis mumbles wryly, hiccupping a bit.

Liam rolls his eyes. “It’s Wednesday,” he points out.

“Is it?” Louis asks slowly, his entire face frowning as if he’s mentally trying to count the days. Eventually he shrugs, still evidently clueless. “Oh well, whatever, yeah?”

Liam sighs heavily. “Yeah,” he mutters, and Louis smiles and smacks a wet kiss to his cheek and nuzzles closer. Liam feels his entire body tense automatically.

“I thought about you tonight,” Louis says after a while; his voice is low all of a sudden and he hitches Liam’s t-shirt up a bit and rests his palm flat on Liam’s waist. His hand is hot and sticky with sweat despite having just come in from outside, and Liam wonders what _else_ Louis’ had tonight besides alcohol.

He tries not to dwell on that one though.

“They played Jay-Z in the bar, the one—the _give it to me_ one,” Louis continues, his fingers trailing up and down Liam’s side, curving just that bit further down every time.

“I Just Wanna Love You,” Liam supplies helplessly. He can feel his skin prickling under Louis’ touch.

Louis presses a deliberate kiss to Liam’s neck then and Liam counts to ten in his head and steels himself for more—he knows where this is going. “Yeah, that one,” Louis mumbles, digging his fingers into Liam’s side and turning him to face him. “Look at me.”

“Don’t,” Liam says, but he looks at him anyway; Louis’ eyes are dark and terribly hazy and maybe a bit _hopeful_. Liam goes to look away again but Louis grips at his arm and pulls him closer and his lips are on Liam’s before Liam really has a chance to stop it. 

Liam thinks he hears – or _feels_ , maybe – Louis mumble, “I just wanna love ya,” against his lips, and he has to try not to laugh a bit hysterically because—because it’s not funny, not really. If anything, Liam thinks, it’s horribly _sad_.

Liam closes his eyes and sighs into the kiss a little bit anyway, but he only kisses him back for a moment, and softly, too. When he pulls away Louis makes a distraught sound that Liam tries to ignore and stares up at him with a sort of broken expectation, and Liam wants to—he wants to lean back down and kiss him properly and just _forget_.

But instead he presses his lips gently to Louis’ forehead and then sits up, flicking the telly off. “I’ll make tea, yeah?”

Louis scrambles up after him and says, “I don’t want tea.” He punctuates it sharply and stares Liam down. Liam thinks he might be going for angry but he just looks a bit _lost_. Liam takes a brief moment to consider that he maybe wishes Louis _were_ angry-drunk tonight, instead of this horrible, clawing desperation; it would be easier, maybe.

He sighs and breaks eye contact and Louis huffs hopelessly and turns around to stumble in the direction of the kitchen. Liam’s quick on his tail though, because he knows exactly what Louis’ looking for and he’s not going to let him have it. 

Louis manages to get the fridge door open – settles down on the floor next to it like that’s where he wants to spend the rest of his life – but Liam flattens his palm hard against it and pushes. “No, Lou. I think you’ve had enough.”

Louis pouts at him, his hair in complete disarray and covering his eyes a little bit so Liam can’t quite see the _please_ that he knows is shining in them. Louis bangs his head back against the fridge door in frustration and Liam thinks he hears him mumble a quiet, “There’s never enough,” but he closes his eyes for a second until he’s sure he didn’t and he can’t hear it echoing anymore.

“Come on,” he says eventually, pulling Louis up from the floor. It’s a bit of a struggle – it always is – Louis’ a dead weight and dangerously swaying backwards, his eyes closing a bit more every second. Liam’s not even sure he knows where he is anymore. “Let’s just get back to the sofa, yeah?”

“Yeah, sofa, that’s—that’s a _brilliant_ idea,” Louis slurs, and he sounds half-amused. “ _You’re_ brilliant.”

“I’m full of brilliant ideas, yeah,” Liam says wryly and hooks his arm around him to keep him upright. Louis mostly co-operates, which is good—means Liam might even be able to get him to sober up a bit. At least enough for him to be coherent and walk on his own anyway, and maybe take a shower and get rid of the stench of sweat and alcohol.

When they get back to the sofa, Louis pulls Liam down with him and nestles his head into the curve of his shoulder, his breath slow and heavy against the material of Liam’s t-shirt. Liam tenses again – automatic – and tries to shrug away a bit, but Louis keeps a tight grip.

“I miss you,” Louis mumbles. His eyes are closed but he still looks so sad, and it takes everything Liam has to not start crying.

He takes a breath and then says, “I’m right here.”

Louis shakes his head almost violently, a frown forming above his closed eyes. “You’re not though. You’re just, like—” he stops and waves his hand a bit. “I dunno where you are. Just not _here_.”

Liam’s eyes are stinging now, so he makes to move, pulling out carefully from under Louis. “I’ll get you some water.”

“No,” Louis groans, stretching out the word desperately. He wraps his arm around Liam’s torso, keeping him in place, and stares up at him with heavy eyes. “Stay here. Please.”

Liam feels his heart twist and contort but he nods all the same, because Louis’ eyes might be drunk and hazy, but they’re _hurt_ too.

Louis sighs sort of thankfully and trails his fingers up over Liam’s shoulders. He curls one hand around the back of Liam’s neck and slides the other into his hair, and Liam sees it coming this time.

“Lou, don’t,” he tries, but Louis either doesn’t hear or ignores him because he tugs Liam down and presses against him and fits their lips together a bit clumsily.

Liam lets his eyes close and opens his mouth instinctively, and he kisses him back properly this time. It’s messy and horribly desperate, and Louis makes tiny broken sounds into Liam’s mouth that have Liam tightening his hands in Louis’ hair to try and get him _closer_. Louis shifts a bit until he’s half-underneath him; he hooks his leg over Liam’s and sweeps his tongue inside his mouth slick and fast and needy, and Liam has to bracket his arms around Louis’ head and slow it down a bit because he can’t _breathe_.

Louis huffs and then scrapes his teeth along Liam’s bottom lip and drops one of his arms to curve a hand over Liam’s hip. He digs his fingers into Liam’s skin and drags him closer so he can grind their hips together, and Liam has to bite back a moan.

He _wants_ it, is the thing. He wants to feel something, wants to forget how damaged he is—wants to forget how horrendously drunk Louis is. But he can’t, because Louis tastes like a bottle of cheap whiskey – he probably bought one from the twenty-four-hour Tesco on the way home to down on top of everything else he’s had tonight – and Liam feels an exhaustion deep in his bones telling him that they can’t keep doing this. He just doesn’t know how _not_ to.

It frightens him how much he loves Louis. Much more frightening though, he thinks, is the way he has let that love drag Louis down with him into whatever hell he’s in. Louis had always _always_ been the light in the tunnel, or however the saying goes; Liam doesn’t really know but it doesn’t matter. Whenever Liam was spiraling and they had a full day of interviews or promo, Louis would always find something to do to make him _smile_ and keep him going – would drag them out to buy Nerf Blasters on their break so they could shoot at anyone Liam couldn’t handle, or pull dumb faces and make terribly rude comments under his breath during interviews, and Liam would smile and always reach out to touch him somehow, _thank_ him – but now Louis’ just here with him in the darkness.

Liam pushes at Louis' chest abruptly and jerks back until there’s a good amount of space between them, breathing a bit too hard. His hand is still tangled in Louis’ hair though, almost like he’s not too sure if he can completely let go—he’s not, really. Louis looks horribly like he might cry, and Liam just _can’t_. He looks away and drops his hand to pick at a thread hanging from the sofa, but he can still _feel_ Louis staring. 

“I’m sorry,” Liam breathes eventually. He doesn’t know what for—for pushing him away? Or maybe not being good enough. Maybe just everything. Maybe it doesn’t bloody matter because Louis won’t remember this in the morning anyway.

Louis sways forward, tucking his head into Liam’s shoulder, and Liam really can’t help it; he folds his arms around him and holds him so incredibly close and tries to ignore the way he can feel Louis’ entire body _shaking_.

“I love you so much,” Louis mumbles into his neck, and Liam has to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip hard against the pain.

He doesn’t even know whether Louis intended for him to hear it or not. But he did anyway, so he presses a kiss to the side of Louis’ head and says, “I love you, too.”

Liam cards his hand gently through Louis’ hair for a what feels like a long while, in a way he hopes is comforting and soothing, and then eventually says, “Come on, let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Louis sniffles a bit, then leans back. “I feel a bit sick.”

“Okay, bathroom then,” Liam says.

Louis nods and scrambles off him to stagger down the hall and into the bathroom. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Liam calls after him. 

He doesn’t move for a moment though, just breathes heavy and pushes the palms of his hands against his eyelids and tries hard to ignore the retching sounds coming from the bathroom.

When he finally goes and flicks the kettle on, the sounds are getting further apart in time and he can hear quiet sobs in their place. He tries to keep his hands from shaking and digs in the cupboard for the peppermint teabags – Louis hates peppermint tea; he calls it an _insult to tea_ , but Liam’s done this enough times now to know it helps, whether Louis likes it or not – and sets up the mugs before going through to the bathroom.

Louis’ predictably hunched over the toilet, clinging to the sides as if it’s his only leverage (it probably is). Liam leans over him and flushes the toilet, then runs him a large glass of water and tries to smile kindly.

Louis takes the glass with a nod of thanks and then manages a gasping, “I’m sorry.”

Liam sighs because it’s all he can really do anymore, isn’t it? “I know,” he says sadly.

He sinks down next to Louis and settles against the cold bathroom tiles, and Louis sips slowly on his water like it’s his one and only life source. Liam smoothes his hand carefully through Louis’ damp hair for a moment, pulling it out of his face and maybe trying to calm him too. He’s not even sure himself, just knows that he wants to be touching Louis somehow—gentle and assuring. 

“I’m sorry too,” he offers gently, his voice sounding awfully broken to his own ears.

Louis stares up at him, tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “You’re always taking care of me,” he mumbles through little sobs that make Liam close his eyes tight-shut. “You shouldn’t be sorry, ’m rubbish, Li, total fucking shit, because—‘cause I should be taking care of _you_. Should be—”

Liam shushes him then, because he can’t hear it. He clambers closer, his knees bruising on the tiles now, and pulls Louis tight against him. “It doesn’t matter, okay?” he tells him, breathing the words into his hair and trying to make himself believe it too. “It doesn’t matter.”

Maybe it doesn’t.

When they wake up in the morning Louis will make them breakfast and probably burn the eggs, and Liam will laugh at him and call him hopeless. He’ll tell Liam that he’s sorry and that he loves him, that he hopes he didn’t say anything too terrible; and Liam will do the same, tell him that no, he didn’t, that it’ll all be okay. Then Louis will kiss him over toast and burnt eggs and mugs of tea, and that will be that until the next time Liam locks himself in the bathroom with a razor and Louis disappears into the night.

It’s always the same.

Once he’s got Louis cleaned up a bit, Liam tucks him into bed with a mug of peppermint tea like he always does, and curls up next to him with his own tea – “Proper tea,” Louis says, twisting his face at his own like a child but drinking it anyway – and Louis leans into him, sniffling a bit still.

“You’re too good to me, Liam Payne,” he says sadly, an air of sobriety to his voice now. 

Liam tries not to think about that; he much prefers Louis’ drunken ramblings to his sobering sincerity, because they’re a lot easier to dismiss. It’s much easier to convince himself that nothing’s quite as bad as it seems and Louis’ simply just drunk and nonsensical.

Liam curves his arm around Louis’ waist and buries closer. “Because I love you,” he says simply, tries to make it light-hearted almost. It doesn’t really work, though, because that’s exactly what it all boils down to, isn’t it? Liam loves entirely too much; it’s what got them here in the first place, because maybe if he didn’t—maybe if he didn’t he wouldn’t have been so selfish and let Louis fall in love with _him_.

Louis stares down forlornly into his mug and says, “I don’t deserve you,” so terribly quiet that the words sound fragile. Like Louis had to try hard not shatter into pieces just to get them out.

Liam huffs out a slow breath and then Louis says it again, a bit louder this time and—he’s _wrong_ , Liam thinks to himself, terribly wrong. Because it’s never been that Louis doesn’t deserve him, it’s always been that Liam doesn’t deserve _Louis_ ; Louis who made it his one and only goal in life to make Liam smile every day—every _minute_ ; Louis who held Liam close and safe whenever it felt like the world was coming crashing down.

Louis who never left but probably should have, because now Liam’s broken him too.

Liam just sighs and takes Louis’ mug from him, setting it down on the bedside table quietly. Louis’ eyes are drooping closed now and his breath is heavy and leveled.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Liam mumbles, pressing his face into Louis’ shoulder, “because you deserve _better_ than me.”

Louis’ silent, and Liam thinks he must be properly asleep now, but then he hears a small, “There isn’t anyone better than you,” before he leaves it be and lets his own eyes close.

**Author's Note:**

> title from aiden grimshaw's _misty eye_ (the song), which i listened to on repeat while writing this.


End file.
